The Poet: I Once Thought I Had The Key

Life feels empty,
Great stone corridors devoid of anything,
Depression, it seems, is quite trendy,
Deep in the tomb, burying.

Writing from an emotional place,
Sometimes forges the best art,
I wouldn’t know fine art if it hit me in the face,
How long are we to be apart?

How deep does despair go,
I don’t think I’ll even know,
Not so long as I’m falling, falling, falling,
The silence of the grave is a siren’s calling.

I once thought I had the key,
The key meant to set me free.

Ryan S. Kinsgrove

RSK

Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/

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